“Here,” said Harper, “take some o' my pillow. I ain't having no difficulty.” He threw over a roll of cloth, which Wilson, after some feeling about, found. “Hold on, Harper, this isn't your coat?” “No, it's part of a bundle of rags I found here.” “What's that!” Beveridge exclaimed. “A bundle of rags?” “Feels like part of an old dress,” said Wilson. “Give it here, Bert. I 'll take what you've got too, Harper.” With the cloth under his arm Beveridge found the ladder and made his way to the floor below. Then he lighted a match. The others crawled to the edge of the mow and looked down into the cavernous, dimly lighted space. “Look out you don't set us afire, Bill.” “Come down here, Smiley, and see what you make of this.” It was not necessary to summon Dick twice. He swung off, hung an instant by his hands, dropped to the floor, and bent with the special agent over what seemed to be the waist and skirt of a gingham dress. The examination grew so interesting that Harper and Wilson came down the ladder and peered over Dick's shoulders. “You see,” said Beveridge,--“here, wait till I light another match. Take this box, Bert, will you, and keep the light going? You see, it isn't an old dress at all. It's rather new, in fact. Mrs. Lindquist would never have thrown it away--never in the world. Now what in the devil--what's that, Smiley?” “I didn't say anything. I was just thinking--” “Well--what?” “I don't know that I could swear to it, but--you see, you can't tell the color very well in this light.” [Illustration: 0287] “Oh, it's blue, plain enough.” “You're sure?” “Perfectly.” “Looks nearer green to me. But if it's blue, I've seen it before.” “Where?” “The day I was at Spencer's. There was a girl there, the old man's sister-in-law, and she wore this dress.” “Are you perfectly sure, Smiley?” “Well--dresses aren't in my line, but--yes, I'm sure. I noticed it because her eyes were blue too--and there was this white figure in it. Her name is Estelle. She waited on table, and--” “Go on--don't stop.” “Wait up,” said Wilson. “If you've got it identified, I'm going to quit burning up these matches. There are only about half a dozen left.” “All right. Put it out.” And they talked on in the dark, seated, Dick and Beveridge on the tongue of a hay-wagon, Wilson on an inverted bucket, Harper on the floor. “Why, she waited on table; and then McGlory disappeared and I had to go after him, and I found him talking to her--” “Hold on!” Beveridge broke in. “You say you found her and McGlory together?” “Yes. I guess we're thinking of the same thing. From the way they both acted, I rather guess it's an understood thing. It wasn't as if he had met her there by chance, not a bit of it. And I've been thinking since, it seems more than likely that she would go wherever he went.” “That's right!” Beveridge exclaimed. “I'm sure of it. I know a little something about it myself.” “You do?” “Yes. This McGlory has left a wife behind him in Chicago.”